


Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

by nothinbuttherain



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: 1x09, 1x09 Authentic Flirt, Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothinbuttherain/pseuds/nothinbuttherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the 1x09 promo, just my take on a few potential Jeller scenes about this episode as they go undercover together as a married couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

Tugging at the velvet skirts of her dress she smoothes down the creases that have emerged in it and critically studies her reflection in the mirror mounted on the inside of her locker door. It feels strange to be standing in the dingy, commonplace changing room wearing a stunning floor-length ball gown, her hair shaped and styled and all of her tattoos covered with a stunning necklace completing the effect and being worth more than an FBI agent would make in half a year. She barely recognises the reflection staring back at her.

But then, she was only just getting used to it in the first place.

Checking her reflection once more, as satisfied as she can be while wishing she was in plainer, more comfortable clothes, feeling foolish in the dress, she steps out to meet Weller and start making their final preparations before they leave.

 The op they’re about to embark on is complicated and littered with more dangers than a volatile minefield, everyone has been more than a little on edge in the run up to it but it’s too important for them to ignore. Still, she knows that Weller will need everything to be completely air tight before he’ll be happy enough to let them leave. She knows how close he is to his team, how protective he is over them and how seriously he takes their safety.

Weller’s in the middle of a conversation with Mayfair when she slips into the glass panelled conference room as quietly as she can but the sound of the door opening and closing still catches his attention and causes him to direct his gaze up towards her for a fleeting moment. And then considerably longer when he does a minor double take and leaves himself hanging in mid-sentence, his mouth slightly open, to stare at her, completely losing the thread  of what he was saying before she walked in.

With a contemptuous sigh Mayfair elbows him pointedly in the ribs and bluntly orders him to close his mouth before, still rolling her eyes, she heads to the door, nodding to her as she passes and wishing her luck, calling over her shoulder as she heads out, “I’ll leave you to fill Jane in on the details will I?”

Weller continues to stare at Jane, barely seeming to hear Mayfair as the door swings shut behind her with a soft hiss, apparently still unable to take in his boss’ abrupt departure in the wake of her arrival that seems to have blown everything else out of the waters and left her with the impression that they’re standing in a room with white walls and floors, the only blemishes on the immaculate surface being themselves therefore leaving her as the only thing that he can see since nothing else exists around them.

 Shifting uncomfortably, still feeling painfully self-conscious in this outfit which is completely unlike anything she’s worn before. Tugging slightly at the long sleeves she swallows to clear her throat then she looks up and asks uncertainly, “Is something wrong? Tasha picked the dress, she said it would suit me but-“  

With a jolt he seems to return to Earth, becoming aware of his surroundings and the situation unfolding around him and, after giving himself a small shake to pull himself together, says hastily, “No it, it does.” He assures her softly, nodding and finding a rare smile for her to try and put her at ease about her appearance.

Settling out fully and assuming the usual commanding, self-confident air she’s come to expect from him, he moves a little closer to her, drinking in the figure hugging black dress she has on, making her feel suddenly more comfortable in it than she has done so far, his obvious appreciation putting her at ease the way only he can and giving her a chance to take in his appearance as well, which she finds herself approving of in turn.

“You look great, Jane.” He says quietly, reaching out as though he’s going to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder but he stops at the last moment and withdraws, seeming to think better of it.  

“Thanks.” She replies, feeling a small half smile tug at the corners of her lips, “You look alright yourself.” She tells him a cautiously playful note in her voice, waiting to see how he takes this.

To her relief he favours her with another small smile and dips his head slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. Emboldened, she takes a step closer to him and reaches up slowly, her eyes still on his, “There’s just one thing.” She murmurs quietly and carefully adjusts his bowtie so that it sits straight.

“Perfect.” She observes lightly, withdrawing her hands but not feeling any inclination to move away from him and step back to her original position.

A faint pulse of tension lingers between them, like the ebb and flow of an ocean, receding slightly but always surging back in and drawing them closer. It’s something she’s noticed evolving more sharply between them in the last week or so planning this mission together. A part of her knows it’s always been there, that something is always going to link them and always has since she woke up in Times Square with his name tattooed across her shoulder blades but it’s stronger now, more sharply defined and becoming increasingly harder for her to ignore; for them both to ignore because she knows he senses it as well.

Lowering her head slightly she’s just about to pull away when he surprises her by initiating further contact between them, sliding his fingers gently under her chin, tilting her head up and to the side slightly, exposing her neck to him for his inspection.

“Did Tasha cover your tattoos as well?” He asks quietly, still studying the patch of skin where he’s used to seeing the black impression of a bird in flight etched there.

“No. Patterson.” She replies, shaking her head.

His fingertips are hot pressed against her skin and she realises that she likes his touch, that she welcomes it, that she wants more of it.

Nodding he says softly, so close that she can feel the soft bursts of breath released with each word ghosting against her skin when he speaks, “She did a good job, you’d never know there was something beneath the surface. Even though I do know I can’t tell.”

“Yeah.” She says and finds her hand lifting reflexively up to brush against the bird. He probably knows some of her tattoos better than she knows them herself.

She’s made a point to study all of the ones that she can see but some on her back for example are impossible unless she uses mirrors or photographs which don’t quite capture them the same way. But the bird is something that’s always been clearly visible, one of the harder images on her body to cover with clothes as some of her other ones are and she’s become intimately familiar with it over the past few weeks.

“I feel almost naked without them-“ She finds herself confessing without thinking ,the words tumbling out without thought or permission and she finds herself fumbling and trying to cover her last statement, “I just mean that I, I feel-“

“I understand.” He interrupts gently, reaching out and giving her hand a soft squeeze to settle her down a little and stop her rambling on. She smiles gratefully and gives his hand a squeeze back in return.

She’s about to open her mouth to try and explain more of how strange all of this undercover feels, how she barely knows enough about herself as is to start inventing new people and how strangely comforting it is to pretend to be someone else, to be able to manufacture whatever life and background she wants rather than trying to learn everything about herself but before she can work out how to begin putting it all into words they’re interrupted as the door is opened once more.

“You lovebirds ready to go?” Tasha enquires, poking her head in through the door and widening her eyes significantly at their intimate proximity. Weller scowls darkly at this and Tasha smiles and shrugs innocently, “What? You’re married aren’t you?” She reminds them with a pointed grin.

Tossing a small packet to them she winks and says, “I’ll let you do the honours, shall I?”

Weller snatches the small brown envelope out of the air, still glowering at Tasha who continues to hover in the doorway, waiting for them. Slitting it open he inverts it and catches the two matching rings that slide out of onto his palm.

Smiling ruefully he slides one onto his own ring finger and then lifts her hand and slides hers on as well before saying, “We’re officially married now. For the purposes of this mission.”

“Congratulations.” Tasha chimes in brightly from the door before stepping back and trying to usher them off, “Now are you ready? The chopper’s getting impatient.”

With a faint feeling of dread gnawing at her stomach she glances up at him and asks heavily, “Are you sure the helicopter is necessary?”

Smiling with a mixture of sympathy and amusement Weller nods and takes her arm, “Unfortunately it is expected.” He tells her and, resigned, she allows him to lead her out, catching his soft assurance in her ear as they go, “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

****

Clutching at the edges of her seat until her knuckles turn white as the helicopter pitches slightly to one side as it turns in, approaching its destination she zones out of what Weller’s trying to tell her about the details of the plans once they get inside.

“Jane? Jane?” She jolts herself back to the present at the sound of her name and the feeling of his hand, gentle on her shoulder, trying to coax her back to him. “You okay?” He asks, clearly concerned, shifting a little bit closer to her, his hand still braced supportively against her shoulder.

“Yeah.” She mutters in an entirely unconvincing tone that he all but ignores, and she can’t blame him for it.

Letting his hand slide down her arm he wraps his hand gently around hers and gives it another small squeeze, “We’re nearly there, only two or three minutes out and you can get off and back on solid ground again.”

She nods and tries to force a small smile for him that she doesn’t think he believes any more than her earlier attempt at asserting she was alright because he gives her hand yet another little squeeze and this time she responds in kind which seems to make him a little happier.

Giving herself a small shake and closing her eyes briefly as the helicopter pitches a little to the left and causes him to slide even closer to her again to the point that their bodies crash gently together she raises a hand and grips onto his jacket with her free hand for support.

Swallowing and taking a deep breath she opens her eyes and looks directly into his, trying to steady herself and focus on him instead of the expanses of empty air surrounding the tin pot helicopter she has less than no faith in, wishing she could have flown it but understanding why that wouldn’t have worked with their covers, she tries to force a feeble joke to distract herself for the next few minutes before they finally land; if they make it to land that is.

“This is the hard part, right? It’s going to be easy to infiltrate a dangerous group of world class assassins, discover what they want and stop it without breaking cover, getting caught or killed and make it back without anyone noticing.” She says in a falsely light tone that draws a faint huff of amused laughter from him along with a small smile.

“Could you go over what you were saying again?” She asks, keen to keep the conversation going in hopes that it’ll take her mind off the last moments of the flight which are always the worst for her, “The last points of the plan I missed a couple when this thing tried to pitch us into the sea.”

Smiling again he nods and says, “I was just reminding you to stay calm, don’t panic. But I think you’ve proved you’re pretty good under pressure already.” She favours him with a faint smile at that before he goes on, “Keep things simple, don’t overcomplicate things, don’t invent a hundred details that you can’t keep straight in your head afterwards. Remember the story we came up with, stick to it, if you forget I’ll help you. I’ve your back in this, okay?”

A soft smile flickers across her lips at that and she says quietly but sincerely, “I’ve always known that.”

Nodding quietly he lets the moment lengthen and contract around them for a moment until the tension is almost unbearable. Then, and only then, does he allow it to snap, sitting forwards and moving closer to the door as the helicopter crests above a large expanse of grass set before an overly lavish mansion house that sits waiting for them.

As soon as the chopper touches down, Weller tugs the door open and hops out, turning back and offering her a hand which she accepts, further allowing him to slide a hand around her waist and lift her out of the helicopter and down onto the grass below.

Grateful to have solid ground under her feet again and to be in control of herself once more she takes a moment to compose herself then straightens herself up and slides her arm through Weller’s, allowing him to lead her inside. She can feel the tension rippling through him as they get closer and closer to the entrance.

 This is one of the more dangerous parts of their mission, waiting to see if they’ll be accepted inside. If they’re not, if someone kicks up a fuss, they’ll find themselves surrounded and incapable of getting away. She knows that Tasha, Reade and Patterson are all on hand nearby but even they won’t be able to do much at distance and without warning if things do go sideways. This is a gamble, a risk, a blatant toss of the dice with their lives on the line.

Keeping close to Weller as they draw nearer, one hand wrapped around his arm the other lightly brushing the gun holstered at her hip concealed beneath her dress, ready to tear through the thin lace panel to reach it if she needs to.

Catching this as they wait their turn to be ushered inside, Weller catches her hand and raises it to his lips to kiss it and cover the gesture, one hand extending around her waist and pulling her in closer to allow him to lean down and murmur quietly in her ear, “Relax. Patterson will get us in.”

Turning and arching up slightly, kissing his cheek to give her a pretext to murmur in his ear while he covers her, smiling and leaning in to her, apparently amused by her words, “Do you have a plan if she doesn’t?”

He just looks significantly down at her as they draw up towards the entrance, both of them walking purposefully through it with a confidence they’re feigning rather than experiencing but to her relief they pass inside without any problem at which point she feels him breathe easier along with her.

After that they make their way to the fringes of the party, watching the dancers on the floor in front of them, trying to pick out their targets from amidst the crowd of bodies, all wearing different bright, distracting colours not making the task easier for them.

Snatching up drinks from a passing waiter he takes a tiny sip from his glass then passes one to her, smiling slightly and wrapping an arm so casually around her waist she almost forgets for a moment that they’re undercover. She takes a small sip of the drink he handed her, still peering around until she feels his fingers flex lightly against her hip and he leans down to murmur softly, “Jane.” She lets her eyes flicker away from the dance floor and up to meet his gaze, “Try and look a little less like a Navy Seal and a little more like a guest at a party.” He says, eyes twinkling.

That forces a little laugh from her and she lowers her eyes a moment before looking back up at him, “Sorry.” She says lightly, “This,” She gestures expansively around them, “It’s just a little different to what I’ve gotten used to lately.”

“Yeah this isn’t exactly an all guns blazing fire fight.” He agrees softly, gripping her arm gently, passing the motion off as intimate and endearing when he leans down to kiss the top of her head and say quietly, “You’re doing good. Just ease up a little okay?”

She can’t stop the little huff of laughter that bursts from her at that and he stares quizzically at her until she explains. “Ease up a little?” She echoes, arching an eyebrow at him, “That’s a little rich coming from you isn’t it?”

His only response is a good-natured scowl and to take another, rather dignified sip of his champagne, which only causes her smile to broaden as she looks away from him, back out onto the crowded dance floor full of ever shifting shapes and bodies making it almost impossible to pick out any one person who will more than likely be going out of their way not to attract attention amidst the crowd of people who decidedly are.

A few more fruitless minutes pass at which point he decisively stretches over and plucks the delicate champagne glass, that she’s barely touched, out of her unresisting if surprised fingers and sets it down on a table beside his, then he turns and slides his hand into hers and leads her away from their shadowy corner and out into the bright, warmly lit dance floor instead.

“What are you doing?” She asks, bemused at his sudden divergence from the carefully crafted plan they had all spent so long agonizing over and ironing out with most of the emphasis being on them not drawing attention to themselves and blending in with everyone else at the party until they manage to locate their targets. “What happened to not drawing attention to ourselves?” She demands, trying not to move her lips out of the frozen smile on her face.

“That’s exactly what we are doing skulking in the corner like that.”He responds dismissively, “Look around you, no-one’s doing what we were doing, we were starting to attract as many stares as you were throwing around.” He tells her with a soft smile, moving in closer to her.

“So...” She prompts, eyes widening as one arm slides gently about her waist.

“So we’re blending in.” He says softly, pressing in as close to her as she can until their bodies are almost touching and his hand has settled itself in the small of her back while the other lifts up and takes her hand in his after showing her the right way to hold his shoulder. “Relax.” He murmurs, leaning in and stepping forwards, guiding her back in rhythm with him. “You might like it.” He tells her with a quiet smile.

Nodding and taking a deep breath she tries to settle into the strange, uncomfortable hold he had quickly coaxed her in to, trying to keep in time with the music as well as still scanning the room to find the target their looking for. His short, sharp burst of laughter distracts her from that task however and she looks at him in time to see him shaking his head at her.

“Jane, I understand you having a few qualms about control-“ He begins lightly.

“Like the helicopter.” She offers lightly, meeting his eyes.

“Like the helicopter.” He agrees, his smile broadening as he leans in to murmur in her ear, “But only one of us can lead a dance.”

She laughs too, realising she’s been trying to steer them as much as he has, and generally in the opposite and wrong direction now that she thinks about it. The laugh seems to release a lot of pent up tension inside her and she glances up at him once more, “Sorry.” She says sheepishly.

“It’s alright.” He says quietly, “Just trust me, okay?” Nodding she allows her body to soften and melt more naturally against his, noticing as she does so that their bodies fit so neatly together when she lets them and that immediately makes her feel a little more comfortable.

Settling in to him and taking several deep breaths to calm herself, she allows him to lead her around the floor, beginning to get used to the steps, seeing the pattern in them and anticipating where he’s going to lead her and how he’s going to hold her as they move together, trying to accommodate him as much as she can without taking over. She’s just beginning to decide that, while she might not like it at the moment, she supposes she could be persuaded to by him when another thought seems to strike him.

He glances down at her, his words suddenly taking on a much sharper and sterner cast than before, “I know we’re undercover here and it is important for us to blend in and look like a proper couple, but if you’re not comfortable with this, with me-“

The realisation that in the last few minutes she had also drifted a little while he had been leading her, trying to work out if her body knew how to dance better than her brain did which had caused her to tense up slightly in his arms, her limbs locking and her eyes no longer focusing on him she understands why she might have concerned him and hurries to allay his fears.

“No, no that’s not the problem.” She insists very quickly and earnestly, looking up at him, letting their eyes meet and linger once more, a soft smile pulling at her lips, “I like being with you.” She insists quietly, “Like this.” She qualifies, raising their joined hands for a moment to make sure he grasps her meaning, “It’s just...” She trails off, brow furrowed, wondering how to put this into words.

A soft smile touches his lips and he seems to understand what she’s getting at and says with a trace of light amusement in his words, “You just don’t think you were a professional ballroom dancer before?”

That makes her smile as well, “Not exactly.” She admits to him.

Leaning in closer to her he takes the hand on her shoulder and moves it up a little then shifts his own hold on her waist and adjusts the angle of their arms then moves in closer to her, allowing the bottom halves of their bodies to press in close while arching a little away from her as he slowly guides her around in a circle, his eyes never leaving hers the whole while.

And for the first time since she woke up in Times Square, covered in tattoos then hauled off from interview room to interview room, from person to person without any explanation or understanding, for the first time since she was forced into this strange new life with no sense of who she was or where she belongs or what she’s supposed to do, she feels almost like a normal person, here in his arms, with music swelling around him and her surroundings melting away from her.

So strange that it’s happening now, while she’s pretending to be someone else but maybe it’s not that unthinkable. Undercover has given them both strange new freedoms with their relationship and allowed the tentative connection that’s been ebbing between them to open up slightly into uncharted territory.

And she feels something for this man holding her so tenderly in his arms. She feels something in the eyes that are watching her so carefully. She feels something for the only constant in her life right now, she feels drawn to him, attached to him, _attracted_ to him and if she knows and understands nothing else about herself; how she came to be, what she is or who she is she knows and she understands this insofar as she can.

For the first time she realises, in such a sharp, poignant way that, while she might be confused and utterly at sea, lost and having to learn everything about herself and the world in which she’s living as she goes, she realises that she has something that she knows something that’s certain and unshakeable.

She knows starkly and more surely than she knows anything else; more surely than she knows the name they say is hers that doesn’t feel like hers at all to the point that she still uses the one they gave her when they found her, the one they give all women stranded and abandoned without identity. More definitely than she knows even that; she knows she’s not alone.

She knows that she has someone that she cares about and someone that cares about her. Someone who will look out for her and try and do whatever he can to help her whatever the cost to himself. Someone who feels just as confused by everything that’s happening to her, who’s been almost as affected by it all as she has. Someone who’s name is tattooed across her shoulder blades the stark black ink sunk deeply into her skin, helping him find her and binding her to him, their pasts and their futures so closely entwined that it’s becoming increasingly impossible to separate them, she knows that she’ll always have him whatever happens.

 And the sudden sense of comfort and closeness and intimacy that spreads through her from the points where they touch and envelopes her then is one of the better things she’s experienced since she woke up.

Opening her mouth, about to try and put at least some of this into words for him, she’s stopped when a flicker of movement catches her eye over his left shoulder and her personal feelings have to be put on hold as she points out their target to Weller, taking the lead once more and swivelling around to give him an excuse to look where she was gesturing.

Nodding he immediately takes the lead again and slides his hand into hers, leading her off of the dance floor and in the direction of their fleeing target, both of them drawing their weapons as they head once more into the fray. But she resolves to get him alone when all of this is said and done and try and tell him everything she’s realised tonight. If they live long enough to have that conversation that is.

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! Feedback is of course very much encouraged.


End file.
